


Enirambus Wolley

by as_the_leaves_fall



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Violence, Drink Spiking, Drowning, Gen, Murder, Past Sexual Abuse, Serial Killers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22890241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_the_leaves_fall/pseuds/as_the_leaves_fall
Summary: Nagisa and Kotoko had a system.He never asked her about the sex workers and she in turn never asked him about the teachers.An AU where the Despair Event never happened and the Warriors of Hope all grow up to become serial killers, thanks to Junko's influence.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Enirambus Wolley

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I publish on this site and it's getting an explicit label. Well then.
> 
> The title is Yellow Submarine written backwards. I was listening to it when I wrote this and thought it fit.

Nagisa and Kotoko had a system. 

He never asked her about the sex workers and she in turn never asked him about the teachers. Both knew full well what the other did and saw the news reports when the media found out, but it remained unspoken between them even when they were alone. They knew each other too well for that. 

For all the rest of the world knew, they were simply coworkers in an office. Friends since childhood. 

They preferred to keep it that way. The less others knew, the better. They could cover for each other if needed but if too many people began poking around, their alibis would break apart.

Jataro's work usually made headlines. On television, it was shaky, white faced police officers holding press conferences, speculating on his identity. Nagisa knew that he'd be watching every broadcast, pleased as punch that his art finally got the appreciation it deserved.

The Mad Artist, they called him. It wasn't hard to see why; Nagisa was high ranking enough to access the case files to see for himself. Grotesque flesh sculptures and nonsensical ramblings about contamination and filth written in blood on the walls was an accurate, if brief description of the kind of thing he did. 

It wasn't Nagisa's style or Kotoko's; the former prefered well practiced torture, drawn out over a number of days while the latter made hers comparatively quick, bloody and degrading, often leaving her victims unrecognisable but both could appreciate the effort and beauty in Jataro's method.

All in all it was definitely, undeniably _his_. It was his mark on the world. Jataro's artistic skill had only gotten better since his childhood days. 

Masaru, they hadn't heard from personally in a while. He'd moved to the countryside years ago. But his work hadn't gone unnoticed either. 

What he lacked in creativity, he certainly made up for in brutality. From the testimony of his one survivor, he'd take them to a nearby forest and, after numerous beatings, forced them to try and run from him. 

Masaru was almost always faster than them. He wasn't called the Little Ultimate P.E in school for nothing and he had retained his physical prowess well into adulthood.

Beatings were never the most efficient way of killing but Masaru clearly knew what he was doing and now as an adult, he had the size and strength to back it up. Big and strong, that's what he was and what he always wanted to be.

Closed casket funerals were the norm for the end result, even with the work of the best morticians. Nagisa couldn't even _begin_ to fathom the amount of sheer unadulterated rage it took for him to do that.

But Kotoko might. Her rage was similar, boiling away under that facade of bubbly sweetness that she'd always had. 

Bloody and degrading was her thing, a horrific echo of her already horrific childhood.

Perhaps that was why she saved the most forceful cuts for her victim's genitalia. It also wasn't hard to figure out why her favorite targets were sex workers, with people working in the entertainment industry a close second.

 _Demons_ , she called them in private. _Cute demons in need of punishment._

In a way, it was her method of taking revenge for all the things that had been done to her. A blood payment for a destroyed innocence. Nagisa couldn't fault her for that.

Often, her kills weren't planned. She had grown up to be a very pretty woman and unfortunately, many people had taken that as an invitation to try and do whatever they pleased with her. 

Those people ended up like all of the others, savagely torn open and left lying in vulgar positions.

Never again. She never wanted to be taken advantage of like that ever again and if it meant that she got caught because she couldn't control herself out of pure rage and disgust, then so be it but **never. fucking. again.**

But even with her lack of control and planning, Kotoko was very good at cleaning up after herself. The police had no leads to her other than _"possible history of sexual abuse."_

They hadn't heard from Monaca in a while either but she at least had a clear reason for it. Being head of the Towa conglomerate was busy work, after all.

Even so, Nagisa knew she was the same as they were. Officially, they heard nothing but then again, Monaca had more than enough resources to cover things up. 

What she couldn't make disappear without serious scrutiny were the graves of her father and Haiji. Every time Nagisa passed the Towa family's plot in the cemetery, he could feel the presence of their headstones boring into the back of his skull like a drill. Unlike most of Nagisa's own victims (with the obvious exception of his parents), these were people he had known personally and it felt strange.

Their official causes of death were listed as non suspicious but Nagisa couldn't get rid of the feeling that Monaca was somehow responsible. 

She was manipulative and good at it, able to weasel her way out of anything and spin it so she'd look like an innocent victim. Nagisa had seen it in action himself and been on the nasty end of it a couple of times. He didn't doubt that she was good enough at it for it to work on the authorities and that thought absolutely terrified him.

A heart attack was plausible natural cause for her father. He was an old man by that point and it wouldn't be unexpected for him to die in that way, especially after a lifetime of excess befitting of his status. It wouldn't have been investigated too thoroughly, even with his position as the conglomerate head.

Haiji was a whole other thing, however.

While Nagisa knew full well that Monaca could've easily paid someone off to do it, he couldn't shake the suspicion that she'd done it herself. Nobody would suspect her, a diminutive paraplegic, of being able to hold down an able-bodied adult man that was twice her size long enough underwater for him to drown, even if he was intoxicated. 

Stabbing would've been more efficient but it was clear that Monaca wanted Haiji's death to be drawn out. Wanted him to suffer in his final moments.

It didn't matter exactly how but somehow she managed it. That was all Nagisa knew. What Monaca wants, Monaca gets.

It didn't stop the rumours from starting. Not only of Mr. Towa and Haiji but of what happens to those who delve too deep into Monaca herself.

Again, she had more than enough resources to make things just go away. Those things being _people_ was certainly not out of the question. 

So they stayed rumours and nothing more. Nagisa had no incentive to ask Monaca anything about them. 

Just like she'd planned.

Planning. That was something Nagisa had in common with Monaca. The careful, meticulous planning that went into the kill.

He'd watch his potential victim from afar, watch their students. How they interacted. How their home life was and how they treated their family. Their routine. Everything. If they fitted his checklist and Nagisa had all of the information he needed, he'd then put his plan into action.

He'd send them a message posing as a fellow teacher, asking them to attend a meeting on the opposite side of town. He'd sit beside them and when they weren't looking, drug their drink. 

He'd take them back to his place after they were either unconscious or too out of it to resist him. It took a few hours still to wait for them to fully awaken. 

And that was when the _real_ fun began.

Nagisa remembered his parent's experiments well and had them memorised off by heart. The difference between them was that Nagisa went further and harder, with the end goal of seeing how long they'd last. 

None ever made it past two weeks. Without fail, they'd drop dead of either exhaustion or blood loss. It didn't matter how many times Nagisa used "incentives", the results were the same.

How... disappointing. He hated that word but that's what it was. Disappointing.

As Nagisa continued to clean the blood off of his floor from his latest test subject, he caught sight of his reflection in a particularly large pool of it.

Impeccable, as always. Tidy. Clean. One wouldn't believe that he'd just bloodily taken another's life only mere minutes earlier. 

Despite that, something that Jatarou had once scrawled messily onto a closet door at a crime scene came into Nagisa's mind as he studied the image staring back at him.

**_"FILTHY BASTARD CHILDREN OF DARKNESS, CONTAMINATING EVERYTHING IN THEIR PRESENCE. CREATING BEAUTY OUT OF NIGHTMARES."_ **

It fit Nagisa. It fit all of them. In the end, he mused, that was all they were.

Children of darkness. They were born in it, grew up in it. Knew it back to front.

Nagisa knew that others who were raised in darkness generally didn't turn out like they did. The darkness was not a life sentence and most were able to leave it behind. Traumatised and hurting but alive, stains eventually fading over time. 

But for the Warriors of Hope, it was something more. Long ago, Big Sis had taught them to take that darkness and throw it back into the uncaring world. It became their weapon and she had given it a name; despair.

Big Sis showed them how to wield it and then receive it in turn and they now couldn't get enough. As they got older, serial murder seemed like a natural next step.

So for them, that darkness was like paint. It covered them completely and left congealing prints on everything they touched. 

Someday, all five would hang for their crimes as a penance for their contamination upon the world. Until then, they'd continue creating their brand of nightmarish beauty.

The thought comforted Nagisa and he smiled for the first time in a long while. 


End file.
